


Yellow and Blue

by Janettelle



Series: Tsukishima is my MC [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A lot of talking, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Plot/Plotless, Slice of Life, Triggers, non-romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:29:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janettelle/pseuds/Janettelle
Summary: Yachi Hitoka has anxiety; it's probably yellow in colour. Tsukishima Kei has anxiety; it's probably blue in colour.Post Shiratorizawa match.
Series: Tsukishima is my MC [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068629
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Yellow and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this from personal experience of some mild panic attacks which people have told me classify as anxiety, so please be WARNED I'm not sure how triggering some of the descriptions are.
> 
> This was something I thought could have bonded these two together, and they are really just adorable people I want to hug, even though Tsukki probably would not appreciate it. I think writing this also made me less anxious about other things in my life.
> 
> I tried to make it non-romantic, and I don't have plans to make a Tsukki x Yachi fic. Yet.

Yachi Hitoka has anxiety.

If it were possible to describe it, Yachi would visualise Thumper, the rabbit from 'Bambi', his left hind foot rapidly beating the ground as Miss Bunny nuzzles her nose against his. There is a thrumming that starts from the back of her neck and spreads to the edges of her toes, a shivering that echoes in her voice if she has to speak. If it had a colour, it would be burning a bright, blinding yellow, jittering and splattering every where you looked.

When her hands started shaking at a young age, Yachi would forcefully grip her fingers into fists and swing her arms about in an attempt to hide them (not realising that _this_ looked much more awkward than vibrating on the spot). When her mother warned her about accidentally hitting someone in the face, Yachi tried to direct her nervous gesturing towards more purposeful actions, like grabbing her shirt or a nearby table, but nothing really helped until she discovered an interest in drawing. Her sketchbook and pencil were such useful avenues for her trembling that Yachi carried them around as often as she could.

Right now though, her hands were occupied with holding steady a tray of tweezers, gauze, and water as the school nurse replaced the finger bandages for Tsukishima Kei, her fellow first year from Karasuno. There were still some pestering thoughts about how she had been too stupid and careless earlier, crashing into Tsukishima on her way to class and ripping his bandages in the first place. The thrumming was growing in her shoulders, so Yachi closed her eyes, willing herself to take a few calming breaths and squeezed her forearms to her chest several times.

“Are you alright?”

“Ah, yes! Sorry!” Yachi's eyes shot open. She apologised much too loudly in the face of the nurse's concern and bowed, but when the items rattled furiously on the tray, she quickly straightened up to stabilise herself. Tsukishima let out an annoyed tongue click and Yachi looked up to see a pair of stern-looking amber eyes boring into her own.

_Ah, I feel so nervous in front of him! He must be really angry!_

Tsukishima blinked suddenly as the nurse placed an adhesive on his new finger bandages. His frown and stiffening of his arm showed he was not immune to physical pain.

“You should really go see a doctor if it continues to hurt.”

“I will.”

“It's very kind of your classmate to accompany you here,” she told him, referring to Yachi as she finished up, taking the tray from her hands.

“Ah, no, we're not classmates!” Yachi protested, unsure why she felt the need to do so but jumping in anyway, stress-riddled explanations pouring out in quick succession, “In fact, I'm the cause of his grief right now: I just bumped into him on my way to my class, which is next to his! I'm also the manager of the volleyball team, which he is a member of! I mean, I'm training to be a manager, I'm obviously not very qualified yet! I should've been more observant, but I didn't see him before he came out of the classroom! Now I've caused him more hurt and I have to atone for my sins, but bringing him here doesn't do mu-”

“Stop it, Yachi-san. It's fine.”

Tsukishima's deadpan response immediately quietened Yachi, who then noticed the nurse was cautiously holding her hands up, possibly in a half-hearted attempt to calm her down. She could still feel the thrumming, but her brain registered that this was the first time she heard Tsukishima call her by name.

“Al-Alright.”

“What lesson did you miss?”

“Ch-Chemistry.”

“Is your teacher Kinoe-san?”

“Yes.”

“I'll explain to him why you weren't in class.”

Their exchange paused as the nurse asked for their names to record in her logbook. Yachi felt less shuddering in her shoulders.

“Erm, what lesson did _you_ miss, Tsukishima-kun?”

“English.”

“Ah, I'm really sorry!”

“It's okay. I'm not behind in that.”

“Oh, o-of course. I don't think you could be behind in anything!”

“Hm. I guess.”

Yachi knew they didn't really talk much, and if they did Tsukishima was always pretty stand-offish or formal to her. Still, she felt grateful for this short dialogue, even if he didn't realise how much it helped her nerves.

It was embarrassing to admit, even secretly, that Yachi felt a strange awe for the middle blocker every time he played, or spoke, or did anything at all, actually. Tsukishima was always so level-headed compared to her, that she couldn't help but aspire to be as calm and collected as he was.

After the nurse recorded their details, she dismissed them both, reassuring Yachi that Tsukishima was alright since the original injury was already healing. As she closed the sick bay door on the pair, Yachi could still feel the aftershocks of her anxiety and she debated mentally if she should leave Tsukishima to have his walk back to class in peace, or invite him to have lunch since it was nearly noon. She reasoned it would be a polite thing to do the latter with a friend-who's-not-really-your-friend-but-also-kind-of-is-especially-after-the-emotional-win-against-Shiratorizawa, but Tsukishima's intimidating height made her hesitant.

“You're in class 1-5, right?”

He beat Yachi to breaking the awkward silence between them, and when the shorter blonde nodded, Tsukishima turned and started walking towards their classrooms. Yachi pressed her fluttering hands together and quickly jogged behind him. As she tried to keep up with the pace of his long legs, one of her sneakers caught her other ankle and before she knew it, her body was leaning much too forward over her feet. Tsukishima saw her from the corner of his eye and on instinct, stretched out his right arm to catch her.

-

Tsukishima Kei has anxiety.

If it were possible to describe it, Tsukishima would visualise darkness, akin to staring down a bottomless pit: the difference between feeling mild uncertainty and a full-blown panic attack was similar to noticing how deep the walls of this pit were, anticipating how long the fall would be if one stepped off the edge. Physically, his gut would lurch uncomfortably like anticipating a free fall on a rollercoaster. If it had a colour, it would be a semi-transparent midnight blue, progressively thickening until it became black.

Since young, Tsukishima knew his anxiety didn't occur like a sudden punch but a slow, burgeoning virus. His habit was always to ignore it, even as the creeping tendrils of anxiety developed into an overwhelming suffocation; eventually, it would go away. The trick was to _look_ unmoved, a la 'fake it until you make it'. After years of being able to shift himself to a quiet place, finish homework assignments, and even on one occasion, carry a conversation, Tsukishima had concluded that his periods of anxiety were just small tests of his discipline.

But familiarity never weakened its force on him.

The weight of Yachi's body tilted towards Tsukishima's pinkie as he caught her, provoking a sudden sharpness in his arm that made him cry out. Memories of the Shiratorizawa match suddenly flashed in his mind's eye – the volleyball aggressively pushing past his hand, the flesh beneath his knuckle blazing, the discomforting looseness of a dislocated pinkie.

Tsukishima became conscious of something else rippling in waves from his intestines. He felt his skin prickling, vision zooming out into a fisheye lens effect. Tsukishima shut his eyes, freezing himself into position as if the tsunami of sensations would leave him like a bear confronted with a dead prey.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry Tsukishima-san!”

The extreme rise in Yachi's pitch made her sound as if she was repenting a crime that deserved banishment to the worst circle of hell. Through the haze of his agony, Tsukishima cracked one eye open and steadied Yachi. By now, he was only metres away from the classrooms but every edge of his nerves were currently being rubbed raw and the blonde hobbled to the benches in front of the main stairwells.

“Do you need some water?? Shall I get the nurse again?? You must be in so much pain! I'm sorry, I couldn't even walk properly! I really don't deserve to be here on this earth! I cause so much inconvenience! Ah, why am I still talking, I need to go find-”

As Yachi waved her palms frantically around Tsukishima's face, the latter grabbed one of her forearms with his uninjured hand.

“Just... shut up.”

“Ah, I, right, I will- okay!”

His fingers were still throbbing but Tsukishima could feel the burn in his pinkie gradually abating. Unfortunately, there was also a growing desire to hurtle through the cement floor he was glaring at, along with a disgusting urge to puke all his organs out. The stairs were starting to have a visual echo, like an optical illusion. His brain sought a distraction, one of its usual tactics to repress his anxiety was delving into the possible triggers for this particular incursion: the pain, obviously. He also hated changes to his routine. Yamaguchi still doesn't know what happened to him. He was hungrier than he expected. Yachi was too close to him.

Tsukishima was barely conscious of the fact that he was still latched on to her arm. He tried not to squeeze Yachi too hard, but it was difficult to moderate his strength when he was using every bit of his physical energy to stay present.

_Breathe. In. Breathe. Out. Breathe. In. Breathe. Out._

“Are you okay, Tsukishima-san?”

Yachi's voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no one in the corridor, and Tsukishima felt it resound in his head. He started feeling an ache in his neck from hunching over, missing the usual cushion of his headphones.

“Music.”

Tsukishima sucked in a quick breath, visualising the air entering and exiting his lungs, occasionally making mental observations to draw his being back into reality. Everything was still spinning.

_Grey asphalt._

_White bandage._

_Black pants._

_Yachi's arm._

_My fingers._

_Yachi's arm._

_Yachi's voice._

It was slightly out of tune, which Tsukishima gathered later was because she was trying not to be loud, but it was a melody, nonetheless. Yachi stuttered a few times, but once she reached what he assumed was the chorus, she was able to drag out some gentle alto notes. She was also unconsciously patting Tsukishima's hand in time with the song's rhythm. It was strange to cling to these details in the fog of his dissociation, but somehow Tsukishima knew that it was helping.

A couple of minutes passed (although it felt _much_ longer to Tsukishima), and then everything that was pounding beneath his skin began to subside. Once he felt his vision wasn't as distorted, Tsukishima sighed out heavily, feeling as if he had just run up Heartbreak Hill a hundred times. His fingers eased up a little and Yachi relaxed in relief. She stopped singing and waited quietly for Tsukishima to let her arm go.

-

“Do you want something to drink?”

When Yachi finally decided to probe into Tsukishima's condition, her fingers were shivering slightly, wrapped around the hand Tsukishima had on her forearm. But she didn't feel as tense as earlier in the sick bay, perhaps because she was concentrating hard on the boy beside her. Even though she couldn't actually see what was going on inside her school mate's head, there was something about his shallow breathing and fixed, forceful, looking-but-not-seeing eyes that reminded her of her own anxiety attacks. She always felt thirsty after an intense episode, but Tsukishima shook his head at her offer.

“Just need a moment.”

“Shall I get your headphones?”

He didn't seem to have the strength to turn his head, but Yachi spotted his side-eye glance and hurriedly justified, “You asked for music, so I thought that's how you coped with your attacks.”

“I see.”

“I can play music on my phone as well!”

“It's alright, I should be fine for now.”

“Oh, okay then.”

There was a moment, and Tsukishima finally released his grip.

“Sorry for grabbing you, Yachi-san,” he looked slightly ashamed as he brought his hands together between his gangly legs. Yachi expected him to stand and walk away but Tsukishima made no move to go.

“It-It's perfectly fine!” Yachi could feel heat crawling up the sides of her neck to her ears as she stumbled over her words, “You weren't rough at all, and I hope it helped you feel calmer! I'm sorry I'm so clumsy and made you catch me! It obviously caused you so much pain, I deserve to be punished by your crushing grip! Ah, no, I mean! It wasn't crushing, but you train your hands to withstand those volleyballs of death, so it's natural that your clamp was tight! I mean, it was firm and it helped to stop my own anxiety so-”

“Shut up, Yachi-san.”

The small blonde quickly pressed her lips together, but she could tell that Tsukishima's usual barb was missing from his quip. It was a similar to how he sometimes spoke with Yamaguchi after trainings. Yachi suspected he was tired.

_It is okay to wait with him, right? I should make sure he's okay before I go back to class._

It wouldn't be a surprise to Yachi if Tsukishima thought of her as a nuisance. It's not the first time such fears danced around her mind, but she cast her gaze down, pressing her palms together to stop herself from doing anything disruptive.

“Your own anxiety?”

Yachi's head whipped up so quickly she thought she heard a crack in her neck. Tsukishima hadn't moved, but his breathing seemed more regular now, and he was sitting up straighter. His amber eyes were lazily directed towards her.

“Ah, yes. My hands,” she displayed them to him, and then mentally slapped herself because _what was she thinking of course_ he has seen hands before.

“They shake a lot, when I get anxious. Sometimes my whole arm vibrates. So, you stopped it.”

“Huh.”

Tsukishima didn't seem to want to add more. Yachi considered excusing herself, so she could stop any further embarrassment on her part, when he suddenly spoke up.

“I feel... waves. Pins and needles. Something like that.”

“O-oh! That, that sounds painful.”

“It's not. It's just distracting.”

“I-I see. Erm, what music do you listen to, to help...?”

“Ambient music.”

“Ah.”

There was a short beat, Yachi fidgeting slightly. Finally, Tsukishima heaved a sigh and stood up, slow but sure. It was as if his turmoil had become nothing more than dust in the wind, and Yachi felt the strange admiration blooming in her again.

“You look so together.”

Tsukishima turned, tilting his chin towards her, one brow raised in query. Yachi nearly choked on her own tongue as she explained herself.

“Ah! As in, I never would have guessed you had anxiety.”

“Hm. Looks can be deceiving.”

“I-I guess.”

The female first year tried not to spiral into another depressive rant of self-loathing as she was reminded of the day she thought Hinata was the manager of Karasuno's volleyball team, instead of their incredible decoy player. Before she could get too upset, Tsukishima cleared his throat, catching her attention once more.

“That was a good poster, by the way.”

“What?”

“The one you designed for the team. I never told you.”

“Oh. Thank you! My mum helped me!”

-

Tsukishima could tell that, in comparison to his previous interactions with Yachi, this was obviously a vast improvement. As she beamed up at him, he felt a small pang of regret, realising he had never really acknowledged her since she became manager. It wasn't like him to be rude and ignore someone who didn't deserve it. Snarky, maybe. Sarcastic, yes, especially if they were idiots. But rude?

“Yamaguchi said your mother was a designer.”

“Yep!” Yachi jumped up from her seat, all anxiousness disappearing as she smiled at Tsukishima, who decided in that moment he didn't quite hate it, “She started her own company and works really hard and is super good at designing!”

“Is that why you like to draw?” Tsukishima had seen her at her desk the few times he passed classroom 1-5, hands moving in determined and swift strokes. He surprised himself as he realised – since the final poster turned out to be a photo she took of Hinata – he was curious to see what was inside her sketchbook.

“I guess so! My mum is so incredible to me. I always thought if I could draw as well as her, I would be just as incredible!”

Something about her sincerity jabs at Tsukishima, as he recognised a shadow of his childhood self.

“Would she be disappointed if you couldn't draw?” He tries to respond in a casual tone, but there's a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Of course!” Her passionate response stuns Tsukishima, but Yachi is undeterred, “My mum taught me everything! I actually get really anxious when I have to show her something I've done because she can tell exactly where I went wrong.”

“Then why do you still do it?”

“Because that's how I get better!”

“Oh. Well, you could save yourself a lot of anxiety if you didn't try too hard.”

“No, that's impossible! I would get anxious no matter what,” Yachi laughs awkwardly, trying to pass off her self-deprecating joke as some sort of casual confidence. Tsukishima almost smirks at this.

“But I might as well get anxious about something I care about, and enjoy doing!”

Tsukishima blinked, stoic in expression, but internally he felt as if something was uncurling inside his gut. He had often hoped he would outgrow his attacks. He also pinned their origins to hormones and puberty and mild trauma from lying older brothers, thinking that knowing the cause would delay or lessen the effect. But over the years, he knew it really didn't matter what triggered them, and he just had to know how to overcome them.

And by 'overcome', he realised he meant ignore. Avoid. Repress. Until they stopped.

 _If_ they ever stopped.

For a split second, Tsukishima was envious of Yachi, fully aware of her weaknesses yet brave enough to face a future full of them head on.

“Huh. I never would have guessed you were so stubborn.”

“Ah, well... looks can be deceiving!”

Yachi wore a smug look as she threw Tsukishima's line back at him, but then rubbed her neck in embarrassment. Tsukishima, on his part, gave an actual smirk. The weird undulating he felt earlier faded away.

Just then, the school bell rang for lunch, startling them both. As they heard the rising cacophony of chairs being pushed back and students calling to their friends, Tsukishima remembered he had to tell Yamaguchi where he'd been, which would most likely incur a whole day's worth of mothering from his easily-worried friend. The thought made Tsukishima grumble under his breath.

“Caring gives me anxiety.”

Yachi gave him a curious look, but Tsukishima dismissed it with a wave. Somehow though, he didn't feel as apprehensive about getting another attack, if he did. He'd have to avoid getting his fingers hit again, of course, and promptly put his right hand in his pocket.

“See you later, Yachi-san.”

“Ri-right! See you! And I'm sorry!”

-

Yachi watched the back of Tsukishima's head as he walked back towards his classroom. Even though she still felt a twinge of guilt for troubling him, he didn't look like he was being tortured during their conversation, which Yachi took for a good sign that he was becoming more comfortable around her.

Her steps were light as she headed back to Classroom 1-5.

Once Yachi returned to her seat (after _profusely_ apologising to Mr Kinoe in the hallway), she took out her phone and searched for “ambient music” in her Spotify. By the end of lunch, she found several jazzy yet calming lo-fi beats and ten songs she personally thought were both cheerful and relaxing. Yachi grouped them all into a playlist and titled it “For Deceptive Looks”.


End file.
